


In the Face of A Nightmare

by Mandergee



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Angst, Death, F/M, Madness, SO MUCH ANGST I WARN YOU, Talk of Character Death, headcannons used, mention of Coulson's father, spoilers for season 1 of Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D, talk of shooting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-05
Updated: 2014-10-05
Packaged: 2018-02-19 22:43:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2405582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mandergee/pseuds/Mandergee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When May found the answers to T.A.H.I.T.I Coulson discovered the potential side effects of the drug used to revive him. When he discovered that madness could lead to darker days, he had to face that fear.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the Face of A Nightmare

**Author's Note:**

> For the October Philinda Challenge on Tumblr. 
> 
> The prompt: Phil watches his worst nightmare come true.

“You know, when I was little- my mom made me my first Captain America costume for Halloween.” He could remember the pull of taffy between his teeth, running from one house to the next with a billowing pillowcase that grew heavier over the course of the night until his mother would call and he'd dart for home. Her favorites were the popcorn balls, and he'd generously offer up the best and the stickiest for his favorite parent to snack on as they'd sort his stash before bedtime. His mother always tucked him in, and whenever he thought of Halloween he thought of her kissing his cheek and the scent of caramel that would linger even after he'd started to dream.

“I remember.” May stared over the edge of her glass, ice jingling in a shallow splash of whiskey, and gestured to his own forgotten glass. “Drink.”

“I know.” It burned as it went down his throat and he felt the smooth warmth spread through his stomach. He'd never been able to handle whiskey quite as well as May, and saw the amusement in her eyes as he brought his hand up to hide the cough. “She had me try it on six times- the mask kept falling over my eyes.”

“Phil.”

“I had that costume for years- begged her to make me a new one every Halloween. When my dad died and she had to go to work....she couldn't make them anymore.”

“How old were you?”

“Eleven. I think.” He could feel her eyes on him as his fingers traced idle patterns in the condensation left behind when he'd lifted his glass from the table. The water stood out against the chestnut of the wood and it reminded him of the way May's eyes would sparkle when he'd make a morbid joke, tell the stories he'd told a million times, or when he'd lie to her and say everything would be all right. They were sparkling now when he looked into them, and he knew that if he told her everything was fine...they'd sparkle even brighter. “It's time, isn't it?”

“I think so.”

“I don't want to die.” When his father had died he'd been young. Too young, he'd thought, and for years afterward had resented every boy whose father taught them to drive, met their girlfriends, told their sons about their own prom nights and mornings after. His best friend had lost his virginity to a girl in the back seat of a buick- Phil could remember drunken groping when _he'd_ had too much to drink and a girl in a rose colored dress who kissed him as she unzipped his pants gave him the night of his life. But he hadn't known what to do, had wondered if his father would have been disappointed when he'd snuck in at dawn and his mother had met him at the top of the stairs.

Melinda May had come years later, when he'd met her at the Academy and fallen head over heels. Pulled a punch she'd neatly caught when she'd made him angry, found himself pinned to the mats and kissing her like he was young again. His father, he'd thought, would have liked the feisty woman he called his friend before he'd called her his wife...and then his friend again, though it had been different after that. Their friendship had changed, and he couldn't remember loving her more, even as he saw the gun in her hand and watched her finger curl around the trigger.

“I don't want you to. But we both know what has to happen, Phil. I'm sorry.”

 

~~~~~

 

He could feel the bullet in his chest as he woke up, screaming in the dark even as the door flew open and May was at his side, hands reaching to tangle his shaking fingers with her own. She'd started sleeping in the room adjacent to his office when he'd begun writing on the walls again, and as he sat up on his cot he wondered if she'd heard him calling her name.

“Shh. It's all right.”

“Melinda.” Her hand came up to the back of his neck and he could feel her rubbing gently at his skin, as if she could somehow massage the knot forming beneath his muscles and chase away the nightmare. As if she could do something- but there was nothing to be done. “I can't do this anymore.”

“Then we'll go.”

“I can't leave.”

“So we _fight_.” Her face was in front of him, eyes shining like they had in his dream, and he flinched for a moment at the memory of it. May was the only one he could trust, and even though she'd promised him that she would never take him out, the nightmares came anyway with the fear left in their wake. “Phil, I'm going to keep you safe. You know that.”

“I know.”

“Go back to sleep.” The mattress relaxed as she lifted her weight, and he felt the gentle press of lips against his temple. “I'll check in on you later. Try to rest.”

He couldn't, but he'd never lie to her.

He wouldn't...but when the madness took him, he thought, _that_ was when he could rest.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I admit, I took a few liberties. I assume that, to Coulson, dying isn't necessarily his worse nightmare, but going mad would be frightening enough for anyone like him, I imagine.


End file.
